


it's been said many times, many ways

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Small Towns, contrivances and more contrivances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-11 10:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12933318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: A Hallmark Christmas Movie-esque AU, featuring:Clarke as the big city business woman trapped in a small town for incredibly contrived reasons!Bellamy as the surly-but-good-hearted bookstore owner who takes her in!A bookstore with a name that's also a Latin pun!Madi being adorable!A gift swap and mistletoe!Bedsharing for even more contrived reasons!And more.





	1. Chapter 1

“In one hundred feet, turn left.  Your destination is on the right,” her GPS intoned.

“Destination,” Clarke grumbled.  “More like my personal hell.”  She had better things to do the week of Christmas than drive to the middle of nowhere and convince yet another small town bookstore owner to sign his business over to Azgeda Holdings, but Nia had expressed extreme disapproval with Clarke's performance this year and Clarke needed this job, so here she was on December 22nd, in the middle of nowhere.  _ Veni Vidi Legi _ was her last chance to save her position in the company.  It wasn’t that she  _ liked _ working for a corporation that bought out small, independently owned bookstores and then subtly rebranded them into bland, mass-marketed copies of each other.  But Clarke had bounced around from job to job after leaving the pre-med program in college and settling on a dual art-and-business major, and so far, Azgeda offered her the only way to keep paying off her loans without asking her mother for help.  Granted, there was her trust, but Clarke had long ago promised herself she wouldn’t touch it, and if that meant working for a soulless, evil company she’d do it.  It was the least she could do, after what she'd done.

Her mother and stepfather were already on their way to St. Barts, but instead of wearing a bikini and laying on the beach, Clarke was bundled into a wool coat, grey beanie pulled down over her ears to ward against the December chill.  The town itself was cute enough, but so small it could hardly be called a town.  She found a spot on the main street and parked underneath an old fashioned street lamp wrapped in garland.  If she looked to her right, she could see the southern edge of the town, and to her left, the northern edge.

She was literally in a town without a traffic light.  There was a snobby part of her that wondered if they even had electricity this far out in the boonies, but she smothered that as best she could.   _ Just get the papers signed and get out _ , she told herself.   _ You do this right, you can be back on the road tonight. _  A single snowflake fluttered past her nose and Clarke tipped her head up to survey the building.

It was a sturdy brick structure, probably from the late 19th century, and to one side sat a vacant storefront.  Clarke peered inside that first— Nia liked to know if expansion was possible— and caught a glimpse of stamped tin ceiling tiles.  She squinted, wondering why they looked familiar, and then noticed the distinctive rose petal pattern in the center.   _ Rosemary Blake _ , she thought.   _ I thought all her work had been torn down _ .  

But that was beside the point, because she had a job to do and a bookstore owner waiting on her.  Clarke straightened her hair in the window, schooled her face into her usual  _ I mean business _ scowl, and marched into the adjacent bookstore.

Inside, it was like Christmas had exploded and punched her in the face.  Every single inch of free space was covered in tinsel, garland, or snowflakes.  Five separate— apparently live, unless her nose was mistaken— trees were tucked into corners, and the window display overflowed with presents spilling from a sleigh.  And everywhere else, there were books.  The entire two story building was packed with them, a warren of shelves winding through the entire floor, and to the left was a solitary counter with a cash register.  

The clerk looked up when the bell above the door chimed and immediately looked thunderous.   _ Looks like I found the owner _ , she thought, because every single one of them had the same look on their face when she walked in with the papers from Nia.  It killed her to do this, but she had sworn she wouldn’t touch the trust her dad left her and she still had bills that had to be paid.

“You must be Mr. Blake,” she said crisply.   “I’m Clarke, here with the documents from Azgeda.”

“Yeah, I know who you are,” he said, and his voice would have been pleasantly deep if it weren’t dripping with loathing.  

“Do you mind if I call you Bellamy?”

“Actually, I do,” he said, glaring at her.

Clarke blinked and then recovered.  “Right, well, I’m going to get started taking some photographs.  We already have the plans and photos you sent in, but our CEO likes to see each property individually before she begins the redesign.  It helps give us a better idea of the unique character of each store,” she said, pulling out her camera.  He scowled but didn’t object, so she started moving throughout the store, snapping as she went.

“You’ve quite a big Latin selection,” she observed.  The owner just grunted in response.  Clarke moved towards the back and noticed the entire side room’s shelves were marked Romance.   _ Smart _ , she thought.   _ Most indies won’t carry much romance even though those are the best-sellers. _  “Who helps with choosing what to buy?” she called.

He materialized around a tight corner, arms folded across his broad chest.  He had dark, curly hair that was just mussed enough that she knew it wasn’t on purpose and a sprinkling of freckles across his cheeks.  If he hadn’t been looking at her like he wanted to murder her with his bare hands, she would have called him handsome.  “I do it on my own,” he said tightly.  

“No other employees?” she asked.  She vaguely remembered reading the synopsis and thought he had a staff of two or three.

“I have two employees, but I handle all acquisitions,” he said.  

“Even the romance?” she asked with a grin.

He didn’t return it.  “All acquisitions.”

Clarke decided to let go of the fantasy she always carried, that the owners wouldn’t hate her guts for what she was doing.  “And you own the building?”

“I do.”

“I was looking next door— are those the original ceiling tiles?”

“They are.”

“Impressive.  You know, I think they might be the work of Rosemary Blake, but I’d have to take a closer look.  Her stuff’s pretty rare these days.”

“They’re hers,” he confirmed.  “My great-grandmother designed this building.”

Clarke straightened, surprised, and then immediately felt silly for not putting two and two together.  He shared the same last name as the little-known-but-talented architect, and Clarke knew Rosemary was from a small town in this general region.  Of course this was the last remaining Rosemary Blake original— it was the building her family owned.  “What used to be in that space?” she asked.

“We’ve had a lot of turnover,” he said tightly.  “Most recently it was an outdoor outfitter.  Look, can we just get a move on?  I don’t have all day.”

Clarke considered arguing— she still had upstairs to photograph, as well as the vacant space next door, but she could do that after he was finished signing just as easily.  “Lead the way,” she said, significantly more magnanimously than she felt.

He showed her to a cramped back office that was barely large enough for the desk and two chairs it held.  Clarke had to step over two boxes of overflowing books, and he lifted a stack of used romance novels from the chair for her.  She drew out the final paperwork, sitting primly with her shoulders straight.

This was, without a doubt, the worst part of her job.  “You’ll have received these last week, but the lawyers insist we go over them page by page,” she said.  She started explaining the first page, wherein he agreed to sign over the rights to the name, design, and contents of  _ Veni Vidi Legi _ to Azgeda Holdings, Incorporated, and that he was waiving all right to future profits.  Disputes would be solved in arbitration, and the deed to the building would be transferred to their real estate division.

Clarke flipped to the next page.  “I see the building has been in your family since the turn of the century, but  _ Veni Vidi Legi _ has only existed for the last decade or so— can I ask what was here before?”

“My mom ran a craft store,” he said without looking up.  Bellamy had put on glasses to read, which again, would have been incredibly adorable if he didn’t glance up at her every once and awhile with burning hatred in his eyes.  “I took it over when she died and converted it to a bookstore.”  Clarke remembered a small corner display of yarn and beads, and noted internally that Bellamy Blake clearly did not forget his customers.

It really was a shame that he couldn’t make the tax payments and payroll.  “How long has the space next door been vacant?” she asked.  

“Close to a year,” he gritted out.

_ That explains it _ . _T_ __hey_ were getting rental income from the other storefront that was keeping them afloat.  Without it, they couldn’t make ends meet. _  “Okay, then just initial at the bottom of this page, and we’ll move on to the next one.”

He scribbled his initials and dutifully turned the page.  He read the first line and snorted.  “All employees have to go through background checks, huh?  Fuck. There goes Murphy and Emori.”

“You know they won’t pass a background check?” she said with an arched eyebrow.  “Then why hire them in the first place?”

“I trust them,” he said, explaining absolutely nothing.  “And there’s not a lot of jobs out here, so I was doing what I could for them.  It’s part of why I decided to sell.”

Clarke chose to let that pass unremarked upon, and moved on to the plans that Azgeda would implement when they took official possession at the start of the year.  Bellamy would become head manager and be required to follow all company procedures and policies, including the uniform, and in exchange Azgeda would pay him $35,000 a year.  “You really expect me to wear khaki pants and a green polo, day in and day out?” he asked.

“People like to know who to look for in a store for assistance,” Clarke explained.  “The uniform helps with that.”

“It’s barely a thousand square feet and I know everyone born in a twenty mile radius,” he replied.  “Trust me, they already know who to look for.”  He was currently wearing a jeans and a thick, soft-looking blue flannel shirt rolled up at the forearms.  The navy of his shirt flattered his warm, golden skin tone, and she had to admit— the Azega-required uniforms were dorky as hell.  But those were the rules.

“We send in secret shoppers to make sure each store is upholding all aspects of company policy, including the uniform,” she said.

“I thought the whole point of your company was that you kept things looking like an indie?  What’s the point if I’m going to have to dress like I work at Barnes and Fucking Noble?”

“Our company aesthetic is a combination of indie and chain,” Clarke patiently explained.  “We want customers from out of town to be able to instantly recognize us, without sacrificing local character.”  It was the explanation she had memorized early on in her tenure at Azgeda, but it sounded hollow to her ears, largely because it was, at base, bullshit.  They didn’t keep almost any of the local character of bookstores, just the name.  Everything else, down to the layout of the shelves, was identical.

But this was the story she was being paid to tell.  She met his disbelieving glare evenly and waited for him to return to the page.  He sighed, scribbled his initials next to the highlighted portion, and nodded for her to continue.

“This last page finalizes the deal,” she said, and ran through the lengthy list of repercussions he would face if he chose to back out, or attempted to undermine the deal in any way.  His face hardened as he listened, and like it always did when she got to this part, her stomach twisted.

She  _ hated _ doing this.  Absolutely, positively, hated it.  She was spreading soul-sucking corporate blandness across the country, just so Nia would make a bit more money than she already did.  Clarke loved the paycheck that came with her job, but the job itself made her sick.  But if she didn’t come back with these papers signed, she could kiss her job goodbye.

Her mother had never understood Clarke’s insistence on not touching her trust, and if Clarke was unemployed she would push even harder for her to access it.  But the bigger problem was Clarke had no idea what else she wanted to do with her life.  She was glad she quit the pre-med program her sophomore year, and she’d loved the process of creating that went along with being an artist, but she was a realist.  She was good, but not good enough to make a living  _ just _  sketching.  And she could take decent enough photographs, but the thought of working in a studio didn’t appeal to her either.  She’d stumbled into the job at Azgeda because Roan offered it to her and she didn’t have any other ideas, and she found she was good at it.  She could manipulate people so seamlessly they usually didn’t even know they were being played, and the paycheck that came with it just about filled the hole in her heart the work itself created.

She still hated this part, though, and the fact that Bellamy was looking at her like she was scum didn’t help.  Usually they were sad by this point, not defiant, but she was backed into a corner.  “Are you agreed to the terms and conditions I outlined here?” she asked.

He narrowed his eyes further.  “If I say no?”

“Then we take back the bridge loan we guaranteed for you when you signed the initial paperwork,” she said.  “You’d be responsible for paying it, in full, within a month.”  This was a new part of Nia’s design, a way of hooking them when they were desperate so they couldn’t back out.  Bellamy had received an influx of $30,000 last month, just enough to get them through the Christmas holidays, and she was guessing it was mostly gone by now.

He was trapped, and it was her net he was trapped in.  “You’re a vulture, you know that?” he spat bitterly.

Clarke hardened her heart.  “And you’re the one who ran your business so incompetently you need us to take it over,” she said haughtily.  “That’s not my problem.”

“You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you?” he muttered, angrily scrawling his name at the bottom.  He practically flung the paper at her.  “There.  It’s yours.  Now get out.”

“I still have to photograph the rest of the property,” she pointed out.  And now that the process was done, she let her veneer of professionalism slip just a little.  “And then believe me, I’ll be happy to get out of this shit hole town as soon as possible.  Tell me, do you even have the internet here, or is that too new fangled and fancy for you?”

“Fuck you,” he growled.  “Get out of my office.”

“Gladly.”  Clarke stuffed the papers back into her folder and tucked it into her messenger bag.  She stomped up the spiral staircase to the second floor and started shooting blindly, her anger— with him, but also with herself— making her less deliberate than she usually was.  But at least Nia couldn’t fire her, because she was coming back with the papers signed.  Clarke stepped around a tall shelf and found a girl sitting with her back against the wall, a stack of books at her feet.  She didn’t looked up until Clarke’s shutter clicked, but Clarke had been sure to keep her out of the shot.  “Are you the lady buying this place?” she asked.

“Not me, but my company, yeah. I’m Clarke. What’s your name?”

“Madi,” she said, and looked back down at her book.

“What are you reading?” Clarke asked.

“ _ The Westing Game _ ,” Madi said, and turned a page.  

“That’s one of my favorites,” Clarke said, not quite sure what it was about this little person, but maybe she just wanted  _ someone _ to like her today.  “Turtle was my idol when I was your age.”

“Bellamy says you’re going to suck the soul of out here, you know.”

Clarke sat down and crossed her legs.  “I don’t want to, but he needs the money and there are conditions that he probably doesn’t like,” she said honestly.  “Are you his...daughter?” she asked.  The girl seemed a little too old to be his— she put him at just a few years older than her— but she couldn’t be sure, although the fact that this girl used his first name was a good hint she wasn’t.

Madi shook her head.  “I just come here after school.  Bellamy lets me hang here until my foster mom can come get me.”

“So you do this every day?”

“Bellamy made me a bet that I couldn’t get through the entire Young Adult section this year.”

“How far are you?”

“Not far enough,” Madi grumbled, and Clarke grinned at the fierce look on her face.  “When you own this place, will I get kicked out?”

Nia had a strict  _ no loitering _ policy for her properties, which meant yes, this little girl would probably get kicked out.  But Clarke didn’t want Madi to hate her, so she just shrugged.  “I think we can work something out,” she lied, and made a mental note to tell Bellamy how to pick out a secret shopper so he could hide Madi, before she realized he would probably throw it back in her face.  

“Hey, do you know how I can get next door?  I don’t want to bother Bellamy,” Clarke said, because really, she needed to finish taking her pictures and get out of town without being snarled at again.

Madi pointed towards the back corner.  “There’s a hallway back there that connects to it.  But the door might be locked.  And there’s a door downstairs that opens into it, and that one’s usually open.”

“I’ll give the one up here a try anyway,” Clarke said, because Bellamy was downstairs.  She pushed herself up and dusted off her pants.  “Nice to meet you, Madi.”

Clarke was in luck and the door was unlocked.  She walked in and her breath caught in her throat.  The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the front windows, filtered by the stained glass transoms above them.  More clouds were building on the horizon, but for now the light was a pure, soft yellow, illuminating the warm hardwood floors and setting the tin ceiling aglow. Clarke climbed down the wrought iron spiral staircase that led from the narrow catwalk gallery on the second floor to the spacious, inviting ground floor.  Dust motes danced in the light and then a cloud slid across the sun, the magic fading just as suddenly as it had appeared.  

She shook herself out of her reverie and took the required pictures— cashier’s counter, back store room, a few of the space itself— and then focused her lens on the stained glass windows, taking in the repeating star pattern that complemented the stamps on the tiles.  She had fallen in love with Rosemary Blake’s art nouveau style in her  _ History of Architecture _ class, but she was just a little known, local architect.  Most of Rosemary’s buildings had been torn down in the 1960s, and she’d only designed a handful— mostly things like this, small buildings in small towns that were otherwise overlooked.

This property was a gem, and Clarke’s artist soul died a little at the thought of these unique details being torn out and replaced with more practical insulated glass and drop down ceiling tiles to cut down on the heating bills, which were probably astronomical.  Maybe she could talk Nia into preserving a few of the details for historical preservation, so she took a few more photos for that, and then a few for herself.

She glanced outside and started.  Snow was falling fast, her car already covered in a thin white blanket.  She had to get out of town soon if she didn’t want to get caught on the mountains in the middle of a snow storm, so she stuffed her camera back into her bag and made her way back into  _ Veni Vidi Legi _ .  “That’s everything for me,” she said, and Bellamy didn’t even bother to look up from his register.  He had his coat on, as if he was going somewhere, but she decided not to ask why.  “I’ll get your papers scanned in tonight and you’ll officially be a part of the Azgeda family.”  Nia always insisted on that last line, even though it made Clarke gag inside.

He rolled his eyes and lifted his hand in a dismissive wave.  Clarke shoved down the annoyance that surged at that and stalked out of the store with her head held high.  She brushed her car off with her mittens— she didn’t even own an ice scraper— and fought against the fear that always lingered in the back of her mind.   _ You’re fine.  The roads will be slick, but you can deal with it. _

But her knuckles burned white as she followed the narrow, winding road out of town.   _ It’s nothing like that night.  It’s still light, for one thing, and for another this is just light, fluffy snow, not an ice storm _ .  But the memory of her last moments with her dad were never far from her mind, and driving in weather like this was a sure fire way to drag them to the forefront.  

Clarke stopped at the last stop sign on the edge of town and took a deep, steadying breath.   _ Two hours, and then you’re home, _ she thought, watching the windshield wipers glide back and forth.  The snow was coming down harder than even just fifteen minutes ago, but she reasoned she’d be driving against the storm, so it’d be over sooner.  She pulled into the right lane as her car chugged upward and a small, dark SUV whizzed past her.  Slush splashed back onto her car and the wipers struggled to keep up.  Light was fading fast and she squinted through the flurry, trying to make out the edge of the road.  The other car disappeared behind a curve up ahead and she redoubled her grip on the steering wheel.

A blur of tawny brown burst from the brush on the opposite side of the road and Clarke slammed on her brakes.  Her car skidded and then slowed, and for a second she thought she had just managed to avoid the deer.  But then her wheels hit a patch of black ice and the car went careening, spinning like a top while Clarke’s heart stopped beating.  With a sickening crunch the car slammed into a tree and stopped moving.

_ “Dad?  Dad, can you hear me?” Clarke shouted.  It was pitch black out, just the headlights illuminating the bark of the tree that was now squarely in the middle of the hood.  Clarke blinked something wet out of her eyes and cringed away from the broken glass that littered the dashboard.  “Dad, talk to me,” she begged, but no answer ever came. _

“Clarke?” someone asked.  Clarke stared blankly out the windshield, watching the snow pile up on the dented hood.  “Clarke, can you hear me?”  

It wasn’t ten years ago.  Her father wasn’t dead in the driver’s seat— she was alone in her car, with someone frantically shouting her name.  Her eyes focused on Bellamy’s face, pale and terrified.  “Clarke, talk to me.” A hand touched her cheek and she jolted like she’d been hit.

“I’m awake,” she said, her hands trembling.

“Anything broken?” he asked.  Snow was catching in his curls, a fluffy white crown.  

“I don’t— I don’t think so,” she said, fumbling with her seatbelt.  Her hands weren’t working properly, so Bellamy took pity and undid it for her.  His hands were warm and steady as he helped her out of the car, holding her up since her legs didn’t seem to want to support her weight.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and his dark eyes scanned her intently.

Clarke looked back at the car, the hood smoking.  “I think so.  Just— shaken up.  How did you find me?”

He tipped his head to the SUV parked on the other side of the road.  “I passed you earlier and heard the crash.  Why don’t you grab your things and I’ll take you back into town,” he said.

“I can call a tow,” she protested, not wanting his charity.  But every time she blinked it was like she was back in that night, her dad laying dead next to her.

“Raven’s already on her way with the tow, but it’s cold and you’re shivering. We should get you out of this,” he said.  Bellamy waded through the snow in the culvert back to her car and leaned in through the open door.

“Here,” he said, returning with her bag and keys.  “I promise, I won’t bite,” he added, when it didn’t seem like she was moving.  

“There’s a suitcase in the back,” she said finally.  She’d packed it just in case the storm caught her before she made it home, and now she was doubly grateful for her type-A habits.  He nodded and came back just a minute later with her suitcase.

Numbly, Clarke followed him to his car and let him drive her back into town.  She bit back the tears that pricked her eyes and was so focused on not falling apart she didn’t realize where he was taking her until the car stopped.  “Is this...your house?” she asked, peering at the craftsman bungalow.

“My neighbor is an EMT and I want him to check you out,” Bellamy said.  Before she could ask, he added, “The hospital is at least thirty minutes away; probably more in this weather.”

It took Clarke two tries to open the door but she managed, and Bellamy waited to make sure she made it up the stairs to his porch.  She recognized the same stained glasswork on his front door from the vacant building, but didn’t get a chance to look around much before his neighbor arrived.

Nyko was a burly, bearded man whose gentle touch belied his size.  Clarke sat at Bellamy’s kitchen table and Nyko checked her pupils while Bellamy answered a phone call, and when he returned Nyko sat back on his heels.  “I think you’re all right,” Nyko said.  “I don’t think you have a concussion, and none of the scrapes need stitches.  You might be sore for for a few days, but that’s it.”

“Thank you,” Clarke said sincerely, and Bellamy walked him out.  “What’s the damage to the car?” she asked when he returned.  “I assume that was the call you got.”

“Raven’s going to take a look at it, but it’s definitely not driveable right now.”

Clarke winced, but she couldn’t say she was surprised.  “Any chance there’s a car rental place near here?”

“Nope.  And with the way it’s coming down out there, I don’t think it’s a great idea to try and leave.”

“Right, then...where’s the nearest hotel?”

“Probably an hour and a half away from here, in this snow,” Bellamy said.  He clenched his jaw and sighed.  “I have an extra bedroom, and Raven’s going to see if she can get you a car by tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” she said awkwardly, because he was looking at her with a strange mixture of loathing and pity.   

Bellamy considered her for a moment and then turned to the cabinet behind him.  “Here,” he said, dropping a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass in front of her.  “You look pale.”

For lack of anything else to do, Clarke poured herself a shot and tossed it back.  The whiskey burned down her esophagus and settled into her stomach.  “Thanks,” she said again.  She took a deep breath.  “Look, about the store—”

“Save it,” he snapped.  “Like you said, I’m the one who ran it into the ground and needed vultures to get it out of the hole.”  Clarke recoiled and he rubbed a hand over his face in exasperation.  “If you’d be more comfortable, I can call someone else.  Raven doesn’t really have any extra room above the garage, but Gina and Luna have a pullout couch, I think.”

“This is fine,” she said, even though she desperately wanted to leave.  She didn't have a clue who Gina and Luna were, and a private room would be better, especially if— well, she had a hunch tonight wouldn’t be the best night for her, and sleeping on someone’s couch would be less than ideal.  Granted, the whole situation was less than ideal, but...well, at least Bellamy couldn’t despise her more than he already did.  She’d settle for having only person with a low opinion of her, instead of several.

“There’s stuff for sandwiches in the fridge.  I have to finish my errands and to get back to the store,” he said curtly.  “Bedroom’s over there, and the bathroom is down the hall.  Make yourself at home,” he said, definitely not sounding like he meant it, and walked out without another word.

Being in the home of a handsome stranger who mostly hated you was a strange sensation.  Clarke was curious, if for no other reason than she needed to keep her mind off of the accident.  She made herself a roast beef sandwich and wandered through the house, trying to make sense of the surly bookstore owner.

Like the store, Bellamy had an extensive set of books in Latin and about the ancient world, plus an impressive collection of sci fi novels.  He had so many books that his house resembled the store, lining every available wall and shelf.

But as she walked around, she couldn’t help but feel like something was missing.  The place was immaculate but not sterile, and it felt homey and lived in in a way that her own apartment back in the city had never quite achieved.  There were framed photos of a young woman with Bellamy’s sharp cheekbones and chin, first as a young girl and then with a handsome, dark skinned man with a friendly smile.  His sister, she assumed, and when she found a photo of the two of them as children, she decided she was right.  

She walked into the living room and looked around, taking in the squashy couch and the tall, built-in bookcases, and it hit her: there weren’t any Christmas decorations.  The store was like the inside of an elf fever dream, but here there wasn’t a single light or tree or knick knack that told her what season it was.  That was a strange incongruity, but she supposed maybe he didn’t particularly like Christmas and just went all out at the store because that was what customers expected.

Clarke called Roan to tell him the paperwork would be delayed, and flat out refused to ask to borrow Bellamy’s scanner to upload the paperwork to the server tonight.  That would be disrespectful, she insisted, and Roan sighed in annoyance but accepted her denials.

It was close to eleven when Clarke decided to turn in.  Bellamy wasn’t home, and she didn’t know if that meant the store was open exceptionally late or if he was avoiding her.  If it was the latter, she couldn’t blame him, and closed the door to the guest room before she climbed into the double bed.  She was still awake an hour later when she heard footsteps going up the stairs, and burrowed down more deeply in the clean smelling sheets, hoping against hope the nightmare wouldn’t return.

_ “You’re too hard on her,” her dad said without looking over.  The roads were bad— terrible, actually— and they had been inching along the interstate for over an hour.  Clarke had taken the last flight possible home thanks to finals, and her mom was working a late shift at the hospital. She was grateful for the break from Abby’s needling.  Clarke hated her pre-med classes with a passion, and her mom didn’t understand why she wanted to try something different. _

_ “She’s not mad that you don’t want to be a doctor, she just wants to make sure you’re happy with what you do, and you always wanted—” _

_ “I know what I always wanted,” Clarke interrupted.  Jake signaled and took the next exit, leaving behind the well-lit and crowded freeway for the dark, winding lane that led to their home.  “But I changed my mind and she won’t accept that.” _

_ Jake sighed and shook his head, taking his eyes from the road.  “She loves you, Clarke,” he insisted. _

_ And then suddenly they were spinning and Clarke was screaming, and then everything went black. _

Clarke woke up with a gasp, her heart pounding from the familiar nightmare.  It had taken years of therapy for Clarke to stop blaming herself for her father’s death, and years more before she believed her mother didn’t blame her for it.  But even still she couldn’t touch the trust because part of her felt like she’d killed him, and to profit from that would be like killing him all over again.

A stair down the hall creaked, like Bellamy was coming down, but Clarke stayed silent, willing him to walk away.  The footsteps retreated and Clarke flopped back against the mattress, hoping her heart would stop racing enough for her to fall asleep again.


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke woke up bleary eyed and groggy a little before seven the next morning, having only gotten a few stolen, restless hours of sleep.  She pulled herself into the spare outfit she’d packed, grateful she’d picked something more comfortable than the blazer and crisp black trousers she wore yesterday.  The henley and hoodie combo wouldn’t be winning her any fashion awards, but it was better than nothing.  Bellamy was finishing up his breakfast and looked up, eying her carefully when she walked in.  “Everything okay?” he asked, standing to put the bowl in the sink.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” she said in an attempt at breezy.

“I thought I heard you last night,” he said, and her stomach churned with the knowledge that she’d cried out in her sleep and he’d heard her, but when she didn’t respond with more than a shrug, Bellamy let it drop.  “There’s coffee, and soymilk in the fridge.  I have to get to the store.”

“Any news on my car?”

“Raven’s number is over there,” he said.  “She said to call in this morning and she’ll give you an update.  If you need anything, just call the store.”

“Thank you for letting me stay here last night,” she said sincerely.  “You didn’t have to do that.”

He gave her an uncomfortable almost-smile.  “I wasn’t going to leave you out in the cold,” he said.  “And Raven’s a genius.  If your car can be fixed, she’ll fix it,” he promised, and grabbed his jacket.

Clarke made herself a bowl of cereal and pulled out her phone to look up Raven’s garage to see how far away it was.  It appeared to be within walking distance, and the snow had stopped falling, at least momentarily.  There was a good six inches and her weather app was predicting another round this afternoon, but for now it was sunny and warm enough to walk the five blocks to Reyes Motors.  Clarke washed her bowl— and Bellamy’s, for good measure— and pulled on her coat, hoping against hope that Raven Reyes was the miracle worker Bellamy claimed.

 

* * *

 

“It’s going to take a couple of days, minimum,” Raven said, wiping her hands on a rag.  “I don’t have a loaner for you right now, but I think I’ll be able to get you one tomorrow morning.  You can take that back to the city, and when this one’s finished we can figure out a way to get it to you and get that one back here.”

She thanked Raven and stuffed her hands back in her pockets.  She had 36 hours to kill in a town and nothing to do, so she walked the three blocks back to  _ Veni Vidi Legi _ and opened the door.

Bellamy was helping a customer, a long line leading from the till.  An unreadable look crossed his face when he saw her.  She braced herself.  “I’m here until tomorrow at the earliest,” she explained, shedding her coat and walking behind the counter.  “But I won’t just mooch off you.”  She frowned at the extra cash register and hit a button.  With a soft chime the drawer opened and she crowed in triumph.  

"You know how to do this?"

"I worked in a coffee shop all through college, I can handle it."

Bellamy cast a her a searching look and nodded, and Clarke looked up at the next customer in line.  They did a brisk business for the next hour and a half, and when there was finally a lull Clarke leaned her hip against the counter and crossed her arms.  “Is it always like this?”

“During Christmas, yeah,” he said.  “You go do something else if you want; I won’t make you do this.”

She shrugged.  “What else am I going to do?”

He smiled; the first genuine smile she’d seen from him since she arrived, and it was dazzling.  She felt like she’d gotten the wind knocked out of her, seeing it in full force.  It transformed his whole face, from handsome-but-serious to warm and inviting.  Clarke managed a smile back and felt a blush crawl up her neck.  She was saved by a new flurry of customers coming through the door, and the store was so busy she almost missed when Madi came through and headed straight back to what was clearly her spot.

Clarke watched Madi’s dark hair disappear up the staircase and turned to Bellamy.  “How long have you known her?”

Bellamy slipped a stack of books into a bag for a customer and took advantage of the line being momentarily empty to turn and look at her.  “Just about a year.  I really don’t know her too well, but her social worker—well, it’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

“Her social worker is dating my ex-girlfriend.  It’s a small town, and well, yeah.  But when Luna said she needed a place to hang out, I offered.”

“Her foster home...is it okay?”

“I think so,” Bellamy said.  “But it’s got a bunch of kids always coming and going, and I think she gets a little lost in the shuffle.  So I let her come here and enjoy the quiet, you know?”

A man with a sharp nose and floppy hair walked through the door just then, and Bellamy looked up.  “That’s Murphy,” he said.  “And since I go through the trouble of paying him to work, I should probably let him take over your cash register.”

“You sure you don’t have something you need to do?  Because I can keep working,” Clarke offered.

“I’m sure.  Besides, you’re making me feel guilty,” Bellamy said, ducking his head.

“I am?”

“I was a huge dick to you yesterday,” he replied.  “And now you’re working in my store for free.”

“Only after you rescued me and gave me a free place to stay,” she countered.  _ And I am responsible for destroying your livelihood.  _ “It’s the least I can do.”

“Well, then consider the debt repaid,” he said.

She could probably just go back to Bellamy’s house— he’d left her a key that morning— but instead she found herself wandering around the store, letting herself get absorbed in browsing. Bellamy surprised her coming around a corner with a box of John Grishams clutched in his hands.  “Still here?” he asked, and knelt down to open the box.

Clarke joined him on the floor and started restocking the blank spots on the shelves.  “It’s been awhile since I’ve just browsed,” she admitted.  “It’s nice.”

“You looking for anything in particular?” he asked.

She shrugged and ignored the fact that she liked how his fingers felt brushing against hers when they reached for the same book.  “I like mysteries, but…” she trailed off and looked at the entire shelf in front of them.  “They’re just so... _ dude _ , ” she said, waving her hand.  

“Do you like contemporary or historical?”

“I’ll take either.”

Bellamy sat back on his heels and looked thoughtful.  “Have you read any Kate Morton?”

“I haven’t,” she said.  

Bellamy pushed himself up and offered her a hand.  She took it, not failing to note that his hands were pleasantly broad and warm, just callused enough to send a minute shiver down her spine.  He lead her around several shelves and then reached up to the top, pulling down a book.  “Here, try this one and…” he scanned the area and then spun around and grabbed another.  “And this one.  It’s got a female Sherlock Holmes; it’s pretty good.”

“Have you read every book in this store?” she asked.

Bellamy grinned at her out of the corner of his eye.  “Not every one.  But a lot, yeah.  It’s my job, though— to help people find what they want.”

“Mind if I keep looking?” she asked.  “Or is this your way of kicking me out?”

“Look all you want,” he said, and there was that stupid blush again, inching up her neck and burning her ears.

Clark went back to wandering, picking up random books and then putting them back, and then found her way up the stairs to Madi’s nest.  “You’re still here!” Madi said with a big grin on her face.  

Clarke leaned back against the railing.  “Car trouble.  I’m here for a few days, at least,” she said.  “Question for you, though— how late does Bellamy usually work?”

“I dunno.  He’s usually here until nine, but I think he works later when it’s this close to Christmas.”

“When does he eat?”

“I don’t think he does,” Madi said.  “Or at least, not here.”

Clarke looked back down at the long line of customers.  Another employee had joined them, restocking the art supply display while Bellamy and Murphy managed the registers.  “Is there a restaurant around here that does take out?” she asked.

Madi marked her place in her book and closed it.  “Giovanni’s does pizza, but they’re the only ones nearby.  Everything else is over in Polis.”

Clarke remembered driving through Polis on her way to Arkadia— it was a good thirty minutes away, which meant Giovanni’s was her only option.  “Want to help me go get them dinner?  Or do you have to go soon?”

Madi peered up at the clock on the wall.  “I’ve got an hour before my foster mom comes to get me,” she said, standing up.  She looked down the stairs and shook her head.  “But if this is going to be a surprise, we have to make sure they don’t see us.”

Clarke agreed, and they decided to split up and surreptitiously slip out of the store when Bellamy wasn’t looking.  Madi was waiting for her on the sidewalk when Clarke darted out, smiling broadly in the fluffy snow.  Clarke gave her a high five and Madi led the way to Giovanni’s, which was fortunately just down the street.  They debated toppings on the way, and settled on one with pepperoni and one with mushrooms and onions, and then Clarke paid for the pizzas and asked Madi more questions about her life and school.

Madi was bright and engaging, and incredibly fierce.  Clarke instantly adored her, and when Madi would say something about her foster home— mostly that it was really crowded and loud— her heart would curl in on itself.  She wanted to do  _ something _ for her, but what, she didn’t know.  She was just passing through town, after all.  The pizzas were ready in twenty minutes and Clarke insisted that Madi put her hat back on before they went back out into the cold.  Madi stuck her tongue out and shoved the beanie back on while Clarke laughed.

The pizzas kept Clarke’s hands warm the block-long walk back to  _ Veni Vidi Legi _ ,  and Bellamy looked up automatically when they walked back through the door.  His eyes lit up with a warmth that she could feel in her belly, and she smiled shyly back at him.  

Madi took the lead and displayed the pizzas to Bellamy and Murphy with great panache.  “Where’s Emori?” she asked, craning her neck.  “I want her to be impressed too.”

Bellamy chuckled and took the still-hot boxes from Clarke’s hands.  “She’s in the back room.  Go and get her, I bet she’s starving.”  There were only a couple of people in the store at the moment, but all of them sent longing looks at the pizzas, which were now steaming slightly.

Murphy took the next customer and Bellamy looked at Clarke, those dark eyes still crackling with warmth.  “You didn’t have to do this,” he said softly.

“You needed to eat.  And I’m going to have some too, so it wasn’t totally altruistic,” she argued.

Bellamy looked over towards the back room, where Emori emerged with a roll of paper towels, Madi hot on her heels.  “She’s really warmed up to you,” he said.  Clarke waved her hand dismissively, but he shook his head.  “Really.  I’m not entirely sure she even likes me,” he insisted.  “I think she just wanted a place to go, and here was quiet enough.  But she barely speaks to me.”

Clarke was taken aback, since Madi was nothing but bubbly— and an enthusiastic fan of Bellamy— with her, but she took his word for it.  Her heart swelled again, and she made a mental note that she needed to get out of Arkadia soon, before she turned into a pile of mush.

Bellamy furrowed his brow at her. “Hey, where’d those books I got you go?  Don’t tell me you reshelved them, screwing up my whole system,” he chided, but his eyes were dancing.

“I left them with Madi’s stuff.  Figured they’d be safe there,” Clarke said, and Madi and Emori joined them to start dishing out the pizza.  Madi’s foster mom arrived shortly thereafter and Madi darted back upstairs to pick up her bag, and Clarke retrieved the books Bellamy had picked out for her.  She grabbed a sketchbook from his art supply display as well, and let him ring it up for her.

Clarke found a comfy armchair near the romance section and settled down with her pizza and opened one of the books.  Bellamy had flat out refused to let her help anymore, and it had been ages since she allowed herself the luxury of just reading for pleasure.  Customers came in fits and starts, sometimes with a line six deep and sometimes with no one at all, but she listened and discovered that Bellamy seemed to know every single person who came in, or at least had a way of making it  _ feel _ like he knew them.

He really was extraordinary at his job.  It sucked that he couldn’t make it work on his own, and Clarke once again mourned what would become of this place once Nia had taken it over.

Abruptly, the overhead music turned off and Clarke realized the store was silent.  She looked up, having completely lost track of time, and found Bellamy standing in front of her with his coat.  “Good book, huh?” he asked smugly.

She rolled her eyes and shoved it into her bag.  “Don’t get too cocky."  

The walk back to Bellamy’s house went quickly.  He gave her a thorough historical tour of the neighborhood, pointing out the places his great-grandmother had worked on as they walked and Clarke marveled privately at the way they were talking like long-lost friends instead of people who had been at each other’s throats the day before.  They walked past a house that was so covered with lights it drowned out the streetlight down the block, and Clarke tipped her head towards it.  “I noticed you don’t have a tree in your house,” she observed.  “Kind of a contrast to the store.  Is Christmas just not your thing?”

Bellamy shrugged and looked away, deliberately not making eye contact with her.  “It is, usually.  But not this year.  My sister’s stuck in San Diego for work, and—”

_ And I’m here to destroy your life’s work _ ,  she finished mentally.  “Got it.  Bad year for Christmas,” she said, and he smiled sadly at her.

Inside his front door Clarke started feeling awkward again.  She didn’t want to go to sleep, mostly because she knew she wouldn’t— she’d be back in the nightmare again, tossing and turning restlessly at best.  “Do you...mind if I just watch TV for awhile?” she asked.

Bellamy considered her carefully.  She wondered if he was guessing the source of her discomfort, but he didn’t say anything.  “Mind if I join you?” he said, and Clarke agreed.  She changed quickly into her pajamas and found him sitting on the couch, a thick blanket lying next to him.

“I keep it kind of cold in here at night,” he said apologetically, holding the blanket up.  

Clarke accepted it and looked at the TV, which was now displaying his Netflix queue.  “You like Miss Fisher?” she asked.  

Bellamy grinned.  “Love her.  One of my favorite fictional ladies,” he said, and clicked to start the next episode.  The earlier awkwardness melted away and Clarke snuggled down under the blanket, leaning away from Bellamy.  He was just near enough on the couch that she could feel the heat radiating off him, cocooned under the same blanket, but far enough that they weren’t touching, and she started to drift off, lulled by his presence into a sleepy sort of coziness.

Clarke jerked awake some time later.  She was warm and comfortable, and she moved her shoulder to resituate her cheek.    _ Miss Fisher _ was still playing, but it was clearly a different episode than the one she’d fallen asleep to, and Bellamy’s heart thumped reassuringly under her ear.

Clarke bolted upright and Bellamy sat up with a snort.  “What?” he said, clearly still half asleep.  “What’s wrong?”

She moved away from where she had been pillowed on his chest, his arm around her back.  He blinked and looked down at the tangle of blankets.  “Oh yeah, you sorta...fell asleep on me,” he said.  “I must have fallen asleep too.”  He didn’t seem embarrassed, but Clarke’s cheeks were aflame.

“You could have woken me,” she stammered.  “You  _ should _ have woken me.”  

Bellamy looked genuinely concerned.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t think— you didn’t do it on purpose, you just sort of slumped over on me, and I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”  He glanced away from her for a moment.  “You don’t sleep well, do you?”

“How do you know?”

“Last night,” he admitted.  “I heard you.  Nightmares, I take it?”

Clarke had only told a few people in her life about her nightmares, mostly long term partners who needed a heads up.  But telling Bellamy was somehow easier than telling Lexa or Finn; there were no consequences if he thought she was weak or silly or just a plain old basket case.  The whole story spilled out, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, and she blinked back a few tears.  Bellamy listened intently, his brow creased with concern.  “Is that what woke you just now?” he asked when she was done.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said, surprising herself.  But she didn’t have the usual hallmarks of her nightmare, no cold sweat or racing heartbeat.  She didn’t have the flashes of the dream playing behind her eyelids, either.  “I think I just...woke up.”  Her nightmares tended to come less when she was sharing a bed with someone, she knew, but she didn’t want to put that on him.

“Does it help to have someone next to you?” Bellamy asked, his tone careful.

“It does, but I— you’re fine.  I’ll just go to bed.” she said, uncoiling herself from the couch.  

Bellamy nodded and watched her leave, but when she was tucked under the covers in the guest room a soft knock sounded on her door.  “If you need anything, I’m right upstairs,” he offered.

Clarke’s throat felt tight.  “Thanks,” she called hoarsely.  She rolled over and closed her eyes, but she knew the second she did that it was a lost cause.  She tossed and turned, and after fifteen torturous minutes, she gave in.

Clarke tiptoed up the stairs to the bedroom that took up the top half-floor.  She ducked under the slanted roof and the hardwood floor creaked under her foot.

Bellamy lifted his head.  “Can’t sleep?” he rasped.  The moonlight filtered in through the window behind his bed, giving his hair a soft silver glow.

Words caught in her throat and she shook her head.  Bellamy lifted the blankets in a silent invitation, and Clarke darted forward.  She let him pull her back snug against his chest, his arm curling protectively around her front.  “Is this okay?” she whispered.

Bellamy made a soft noise of assent.  “Are  _ you _ okay?” 

Clarke let his clean, masculine scent wrap around her and his heat pour into her body like waves.  “I am,” she said, and slipped into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Clarke woke up the next morning feeling better than she had in years.  Bellamy was gone, but the memory of his solid, heavy body behind her was like a physical weight, one she missed more than she really should.  Most of her was glad that Bellamy was already up, to spare them the awkward dance of having slept in the same bed despite being basically strangers, but there was a soft, secret part of her that wished he was still there.  She wanted to know what he looked like when he just woke up.  There was a vulnerability to people first thing in the morning, their senses operating a little slower, their defenses a little lower, and she always loved that moment.  She imagined he was a slow, sleepy sort who would watch her with heavy-lidded eyes, a smile spreading across his face like butter melting on a pan.  He’d probably tuck her hair back behind her ear, trailing his thumb along her jaw, and—

Clarke sat up and refused to let her thoughts drift any further down that train of thought.  She would be picking up a rental car from Reyes Motors today and driving back to town. No matter what,she was leaving Arkadia today.  And whatever spark she felt with Bellamy would be smothered once she turned in the paperwork and turned  _Veni Vidi Legi_ into yet another corporate clone.  Still, she couldn’t deny that she lingered a little in his bed, enjoying the way it felt, wishing that her life was a little more like this and a little less, well, empty.

It wasn’t that she had a  _ bad  _ life back in the city.  She had a good paying job and a nice apartment, and she saw Wells whenever their work schedules allowed, even though he was a solid hour across town from her.  And her mother and Marcus were nearby, which was nice even if Clarke still sometimes felt a little awkward around them.  She had promised them she was fine with skipping Christmas this year, but when she thought about going home to her minimalist apartment and spending Christmas alone, a little part of her dried up.   

Because she liked it here.  She liked that there weren’t sirens outside her window at all hours and that she could walk from Bellamy’s house to just about anywhere she needed to be.  She didn’t feel so alone here.  She liked the hustle and bustle of the store, and talking to Madi and watching Bellamy help customers find the perfect gift.  She felt like celebrating Christmas here in a way she hadn't in years.  There was something about Arkadia that was curling around her heart like the tendril of a vine, and it was better for her if she got out as soon as she could.

Clarke forced herself out of Bellamy’s bed and took a quick shower in the downstairs bathroom, mentally scolding herself for wondering if using his shampoo would make his scent linger once she was back home. She found a note on the kitchen counter, apologetically explaining that he opened the store early on Christmas Eve for last minute shoppers.  Then she polished off the coffee and grabbed a banana to eat as she walked to Reyes Motors.

“Good news,” Raven announced when Clarke walked through the door.  “I’m a goddamn genius, and I’ll be able to get her running by this afternoon.  You’ll probably want to take it in for a touch up on the paint job, and it won’t be pretty, but it’ll get you home and you won’t have to figure out how to get a rental all the way back out here.  Think you can kill a few hours while I finish up?”

Clarke was more crestfallen about the good news than she should have been, but she thanked Raven profusely and assured her it wasn’t a problem.  She walked back outside and peered up at the low-bellied clouds, but it wasn’t snowing yet.  Another storm was supposed to arrive late tonight, but if Raven had her car done by afternoon like she promised, Clarke was pretty sure she could make it out before the roads got too bad.

Granted, she didn’t want to leave, but that was an entirely different problem.  Her heart made a funny little leap when she walked into the bookstore and Bellamy’s face once again lit up at the sight of her.  “Raven is going to have my car running by this afternoon,” she explained.  “So this is me, pitching in again.”

Bellamy didn’t fight her this time, just directed her to restock the romance shelves alphabetically with the box he had waiting in the back.  The store did a brisk business for a few hours, but no where near the craziness of yesterday.  Madi materialized around lunchtime, surprising Bellamy and immediately beginning to follow Clarke around the store like a small, chatty shadow.  In two days Clarke had learned more about Madi’s life than Clarke knew about almost any of her coworkers, and when she thought about it, she’d told Bellamy more important, personal things than she had told anyone else in a long time.

This town was under her skin.

Clarke took advantage of Madi explaining a youtube video featuring a cat and horse as friends to Murphy to slip away and lean across the counter to Bellamy.  “Hey, do you have the _Anne of Green Gables_ books?” she whispered.

Bellamy beamed.  “All of them.”

“New or used?”

“Both.”

“Awesome.  Where are they?  The new ones, I mean.”

“I’ll go grab them.  I’ll even throw the wrapping in for free,” he said with a tiny wink.  “I’ve been bugging her to read those for months.”  Clarke grinned conspiratorially at him and went back to distract Madi while Bellamy let himself out from behind the counter.

Bellamy lifted his chin towards her across the ground floor when the books were wrapped, and Clarke told Madi to keep alphabetizing the bodice rippers.  When she returned, Clarke sat down cross legged across from Madi, the package of books hidden behind her back.  “Hey, I know this might be weird since I’m a stranger and all, but—”

Madi lunged forward.  “Oh my god, did you get me something?” she squealed.  Clarke spied Bellamy hovering just behind the next shelf, watching them both with a fond grin.  

“I did,” Clarke confirmed, and handed the neatly wrapped books over.

Madi tore the paper off excitedly, and Clarke felt prouder than she’d ever felt before at making this little girl smile.  It wasn’t like it was difficult— Madi seemed like a pretty steady, even-keeled kid— but it felt like a  _ real _ a ccomplishment in the way a lot of things in her job never did.  And when Clarke looked up and took in the expression on Bellamy’s face, she felt it in her bones.

Madi hugged her and Clarke hugged her back.  When Bellamy was safely out of earshot, Clarke leaned forward.  “Hey, how much longer are you here?” she whispered.

Madi’s eyes lit up.  “Until four.”

“Great.  I have a plan, but I need your help.”

* * *

Clarke had just slipped back into the bookstore when her phone rang with news from Raven.  “It’s ready,” Raven announced without preamble.  “And you owe me like, so much money.”

“You earned it,” Clarke laughed.

“Want to get in an accident right before Christmas every year?” Raven ribbed.  “This is going to make paying off my credit cards next month so much more fun.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Clarke said dryly.  “And you’re a lifesaver, you know that?”

“Yes, I’m aware,” the other woman deadpanned.  “You’ll be by soon?”

“Give me ten minutes.”  Clarke hung up and found Madi to say her goodbyes, surprised and touched when the girl pulled her into another tight hug.  Clarke had been touched more in the last three days than she had been in the last three months, and she was only now realizing how starved for human connections she’d been.

Bellamy was with a customer, so Clarke decided to come back later to say goodbye.  She wrote Raven an enormous check and climbed behind the wheel of her now-running car.  Raven was right— it wasn’t pretty, but it was functional, and that was what mattered.  Clarke wanted to stay and strike up a conversation with the mechanic, find out what brought a first-rate mind like hers to a small town like this, but she decided against it.  She was already putting down roots in Arkadia.  The sooner she pulled them up, the easier it would be to put this all behind her. 

But the relief on Bellamy’s face when she walked back in was palpable, and she knew, deep down, she was lying to herself about being able to walk away from him unscathed.  “Madi said you left, and I thought—”

“You were busy,” Clarke interrupted.  “And I wanted to get my car so Raven could close down.  I figured I’d come back and say goodbye when things were slower.”

Bellamy rubbed the back of his neck.  “You probably want to get out of here right away, huh?  I suppose you’ve probably got plans back in town.”

“Not particularly, no,” Clarke said, her heart giving a hopeful leap.

There was that smile again, the one that stole her breath away.  “Then if you’re not busy, would you want to stay?  I close in about an hour, and there’s this thing— it’s lame, but—”

“I’d love to,” Clarke said before he finished explaining.  “Whatever it is, I’d— I’d love to stay.”

“You would?” he asked, eyes hopeful.

Clarke grinned stupidly at him.  “I would.”

“Well, then we need to get you a present for the swap,” he said, and started explaining the rules of the annual holiday present swap.  “No more than $15, and the weirder the better.  Usually Emori wins with something she found in a pawn shop, but Monty’s been known to make machines that like, lick stamps for you and shit.”

“What do you normally get?” Clarke asked, laughing.

“Well, I have one of those stamp machines, but if you’re asking what I normally give, I usually go with a book.  In Latin if I’m feeling cranky, about sex if I’m not.”

“Do you have one in mind for me?”

“I’m pretty sure there’s an encyclopedia of animal penises over in non-fiction, if you’re interested.”

“Sold,” Clarke said, and ran over to nonfiction to hunt it down.

Bellamy’s friends started arriving shortly after he flipped the sign on the door from  _ open _ to  _ closed _ .   Monty and Miller were first, carrying a crockpot of smoked sausages and several growlers of Monty’s homemade eggnog.  The eggnog was so strong it make Clarke’s eyes water, but Monty just clinked their plastic cups together with an endearing grin and cheered when she threw the whole thing back in one gulp.  Raven was next, with empanadas and beer, and then in came a tall, skinny guy carrying enough rum to kill an army.  “Monty makes his eggnog way too weak,” he explained, terrifyingly.  “And I’m Jasper, by the way.  You must be Bellamy’s new—”

“This is Clarke,” Bellamy interjected with a withering glare.  Jasper quailed and Clarke hid her smile behind another sip of eggnog.

She met Luna and Gina shortly thereafter, and she marveled at how easily Bellamy got along with his ex-girlfriend and her partner.  She couldn’t imagine welcoming Lexa to a party with a friendly kiss on the cheek and a hug for her partner; not because she hadn’t loved Lexa, but because she had  _ only  _ loved Lexa.  They were never friends, just lovers, and in the end that was their undoing.  But Bellamy laughed at Gina’s jokes and introduced Clarke as Madi’s new idol like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Monty set up a laptop so Bellamy’s sister and her husband could Skype in, and Clarke could feel Octavia’s eyes on her whenever she walked past the screen.  Murphy and Emori reappeared with brownies—  _ these are the regular ones, these are, um, the ones for Jasper and Luna _ ,  Murphy warned her— and everyone piled their plates high with food and settled onto whatever space they could find to sit.  Clarke balanced her plate on a low shelf in front of the children’s section, listening intently as Luna explained what it was like to be a rural social worker.

“Ooooh, check it out,” Jasper said to Clarke in a stage whisper, just as Bellamy walked up behind her.  “Look what you two are standing under.”

“It’s holly,” Bellamy said, adorably grumpy.  “I don’t hang fucking mistletoe for this very reason.”

Clarke looked up at him, his ears burning red, and rolled up on her toes.  She pressed a quick, dry kiss to the corner of his jaw anyway and grinned.

Bellamy looked flustered and Jasper whooped, and Raven chose that time to call the party to order and begin the process of the gift swap.

It was incredibly elaborate, clearly borne of this group doing it year after year and creating rules as they were needed, but in the end, Clarke wound up with a Shake Weight courtesy of Raven, and Bellamy had a Dora-the-Explorer themed shaving kit from Miller.  Gina was giggling happily at Clarke’s encyclopedia of animal penises, and Clarke perched on the armrest of the chair where Bellamy was sitting to talk to Raven about how she'd come to own the garage.

The eggnog was hitting her, just enough to make her happy and relaxed, and Bellamy reached up to scratch her back, lazily affectionate.  Clarke couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this happy, or had this much fun.  She didn’t want to leave Arkadia— not tonight, possibly not ever.  These people— these loud, happy people— were who she had always wanted.

She helped Bellamy lock up the store and they walked back to his house together in the softly falling snow.  She fought the urge to take his hand, but halfway there he did it anyway, twining their fingers together.  “Sorry you’ll be getting a late start,” he said.  He kept his voice low, the snow making them both feel the urge to whisper.

“Worth it,” Clarke said with a shrug.  She’d packed up and left her car in front of Bellamy’s house in anticipation of leaving right away, but by the time they made it back, she couldn’t think of anything she wanted to do less.

She glanced up at his house, the windows dark, and then back at him.  Her plan, as she’d explained to Madi, was for this to be a surprise for him to find when she was gone, but now she couldn’t imagine driving away and not seeing the look on his face.  “I have something to show you,” she said and tugged him up the walkway.

It had taken her almost an hour to get it done, not counting the time it took to gather the materials in the store.  That had required Madi’s diligent work keeping Bellamy occupied while Clarke raided the store room for the one, solitary leftover string of lights, smuggled a small tree out the back door, and stole a couple more baubles to use as decoration.  Then she’d had to carry it all back to his house, figure out Bellamy’s outlets, and get it all set up so when he hit the light switch by the front door it would turn on.

Clarke stayed his hand when he unlocked the door.  “Let me,” she said, and took his hands and led him over the threshold.  She fumbled for the light switch and then the house went from dark and cold to alight with multicolored Christmas lights twinkling from where she’d wound them around the living room.  The small tree stood in the corner, near the fireplace, and Clarke risked a look at Bellamy’s face.

He was entranced.  Light from the tree dappled his face, his eyes wide.  “You— did this?” he said reverently.

“Madi helped.  Well, kept you distracted while I stole all this stuff from the store.”

“I thought we were missing a tree,” he said, revolving slowly to take it all in.

“Do you like it?” she asked, unaccountably nervous.

Bellamy turned to face her and cupped her cheeks in his hands.  They were warm and gentle against her cool skin.  His thumb swept across the bow of her lips and his eyes seemed to burn into her.  “I love it,” he said lowly, and brought his head down to brush their lips together.

Clarke’s breath caught in her throat.  She curled her hands into the front of his coat, tugging him closer.  His lips were as gentle as the rest of him, as warm and inviting.  She felt like she was cracking in two, the softness inside of her spilling out with each brush of his tongue against hers.

Bellamy pulled back and untucked her hair from her scarf, his eyes studying her face.  “Stay.  Just for tonight,” he whispered.  “Please.”

The envelope with Bellamy’s entire future signed away was sitting on her passenger seat, just waiting to be submitted.  The moment she got in her car and drove away, there would be no going back— she’d have destroyed him, even if he didn’t blame her for it.  Leaving would mean leaving behind the way she’d felt here the past few days, loved and cared for and like she was a part of something bigger.

It would also mean leaving behind Bellamy; his steady, quiet tenderness and the steel underneath, the part of him willing to give up his life’s dream if it meant not having to fire an employee.  She admired him for that almost as much as she wanted him.  The way he was looking at her now, equal parts hopeful and hungry, seemed to reach deep inside of her and draw her out.

She nodded.  “Okay,” she said hoarsely.  “I’ll stay.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone should read Kate Morton's The Lake House and Sherry Thomas' A Study in Scarlet Women, which are the books Bellamy recommends to Clarke.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of smut in this one, y'all.

Bellamy captured her in a deep, needy kiss, the gentle exploration of earlier replaced by desperation and want.  Her fingers found his curls, still damp from the snow outside, and he unwound the scarf from around her neck.  Her beanie soon joined it on the ground, followed by Bellamy’s coat and then hers.

The thick, bulky wool between them now gone, Clarke could feel every inch of his body pressed against her.  She ran her hands down his broad, well-muscled shoulders and along his sides, taking in the way his torso narrowed at his waist, feeling his muscles flicker and twitch with every caress.

Bellamy placed his finger under her chin and tilted her head up.  He dropped a kiss to the tip of her nose, making her scrunch up her face, and then one on her cheek.  It was almost unbearably tender and Clarke fought against the instinct inside of her that told her she wasn’t worth it.  Instead she focused on slipping his buttons through the holes one by one, his dark green flannel splitting apart to reveal an ivory waffled henley that stretched tight across his chest.  “You’re wearing too many clothes,” she grumbled affectionately.

Bellamy’s hands slipped under the hem of her shirt and spanned her lower back.  “I could say the same thing for you,” he said against her skin, his nose tucked just beneath her ear.  Clarke kissed the nearest spot of bare skin she could find, her lips landing on the side of his throat, and eased his flannel shirt off his shoulders.

Bellamy responded by peeling her shirt up and tossing it aside, his eyes landing heavily on her breasts.  His thumb edged under one peachy pink strap and smoothed over her collarbone.  His pupils were blown wide in the dim light, his fingertips calloused but gentle, and Clarke shivered.

“I— I have, um, condoms upstairs,” he stammered.  “If— if you want—”

Clarke silenced him with a kiss and tangled their fingers together.  She took the lead and towed him up the stairs to his bedroom, ducking through the low hallway to emerge into his bedroom.  She never let go, craving the connection, even if it was just their fingers and palms knotted together.  She spun around to face him and once again he cupped her face in his hands.  Every time he did that she felt precious in a way she hadn’t in a long, long time, and the sensation was too potent for her to fully process.

So she kissed him, because that was easier than standing there with the weight of his gaze on her skin.  He helped her tug his shirt off over his head and she pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses across his chest.  His skin was smooth and almost hot to the touch, and she let her tongue dart out to taste the salty musk on his collarbone.

Impatient to feel her chest bare against his, Clarke twisted her arms behind her and unhooked her bra.  She let it drop to the floor and wrapped herself tightly around him, her nipples hard between them.  Clarke arched her neck up and kissed him, nipping at his lower lip as she went.

Bellamy groaned and dropped to his knees, nuzzling his face against her belly.  His hands came up to palm her ass and he kissed her navel, eyes slowly traveling upwards to lock onto her face.  He sat back, his fingers on the button of her jeans, and waited for her nod.  Skinning the jeans down her legs took more tugging than either of them were prepared for, and Clarke ended up giggling as she hopped on one foot, desperately trying to kick it off.

When it finally flew off Bellamy caught her in his arms, his lips curved into a grin as he kissed her shoulder.  She settled, her laughter melting into a moan when his lips found her pulse point.  He scooped her up and dropped her down on the edge of his dresser.  His waist was wedged between her knees and he dipped his head down to swirl his tongue around her aching nipple.  Clarke speared her fingers through his hair, holding him close, and his hand roughly palmed her other breast.  She rocked forward against his hip and her panties slipped through her folds, the friction almost what she needed.

Bellamy’s fingers curled into the waistband of her underwear and Clarke wordlessly lifted herself up to let him ease them down over her legs.  He shifted slowly to his knees, his lips brushing across her skin, and knelt in front of her.  Clarke leaned back on her palms and let her legs fall open.  She was on display to him, open and vulnerable, but she’d never felt more safe.  

Bellamy nuzzled the inside of her thigh, his teeth nipping at the thin skin, and just when she thought she would burst with need he bent his head and licked a long, slow stripe up her slit.  He moaned at her taste and the vibrations rumbled straight to her clit, making her gasp.  Clarke blindly tangled one hand in his curls and kept the other behind her for support, but with every flicker of his tongue Bellamy was making it harder and harder for her muscles to work properly.

He traced every inch of her folds with the tip of her tongue, dipping it just inside her entrance and swirling it around the tight bud of muscles there.  He moved up, drawing her clit between his teeth and lashing it with his tongue, and then back down, lapping as her arousal dripped out.  It was heaven and hell because every so often he’d return to her clit with the friction and pressure she needed, but just when her thighs were trembling and she was on the edge of tumbling over into bliss he’d back off and explore more of her.  

She keened and pleaded and moaned but nothing made him alter his rhythm, a smirk glimmering in his eyes whenever she looked down at him.  But just when she couldn’t take it anymore, just when she was about to lose all sense of control, Bellamy took mercy on her.  He pressed his tongue against her clit, hard and fast, and the heat that had been coiling inside of her released at all once.  Clarke’s back bowed and her muscles clenched down on the fingers he’d just thrust inside of her.  The sensation was almost perfect, rolling through her in waves, but she needed more.  She needed to feel him inside of her, to have his cock in her when she came again.

Clarke hauled him up to kiss him, cleaning her arousal off his lips and chin with her tongue, chasing her taste.  Bellamy seemed almost as desperate as she felt, lips and teeth clashing together in a messy, needy kiss.  He picked her up off the dresser and set her down on the edge of his bed, his hands immediately going to his jeans to unbutton them.  “Uh, condoms are in—” he said, and jerked his head towards the nightstand.

Clarke leaned over to open the drawer and found the box he kept them in.  By the time she had one open his jeans and boxers were on the floor, revealing a rather impressive erection.  He followed her gaze and smirked.  Clarke bit her lower lip and rolled the condom on, sitting perched on the edge of the bed while he loomed over her.  Bellamy touched her cheek gently, urging her face up, and she saw so much tenderness shining in his eyes she had to look away.  

“Roll over,” he urged, and Clarke laid back and rolled to her side as he climbed onto the bed next to her.  He curled his body around her back, his arm coming around her front in an echo of the night before.  Bellamy tucked her back securely to his chest and nudged her legs apart.  He pressed into her from behind, their bodies spooned together, and Clarke gasped.  The angle was perfect— deep enough for her to feel filled, but shallow enough to hit the spots on her front wall that made her see stars.  He kept one arm around her waist and the other splayed across her sternum, the pressure light but comforting.

Every time he thrusted, Clarke keened.  She was surrounded and invaded by him so completely she forgot where she ended and Bellamy began.  She melted into him, rolling her hips back to meet his every stroke, and dropped her hand to cup her mound.  “Fuck, yes,” he groaned in her ear.  “Touch yourself.”

Clarke twisted her head around to meet him in a sloppy kiss.  The heat was back, twisting and tightening in her core, and she drew quick, rough circles around her clit, panting as she went.  Bellamy’s breaths were ragged too, and his rhythm was faltering, just enough that she knew he was close.  She sped up her efforts and kept her neck craned so she could kiss him, needing every bit of closeness she could get.

She tipped over first, shaking and coming on his cock with a sharp cry that he swallowed with a kiss.  And then he came right after, swelling inside of her before her walls had stopped fluttering around him.

Clarke fell to the mattress, suddenly boneless, and Bellamy collapsed behind her.  His forehead was pressed to the nape of her neck, his shallow, gasping breaths fanning across her now-sweaty back.  He pulled out of her and she whined, wanting him to stay close, and she rolled to bury her face in his chest as he tied off the condom and threw it in the trash.  “Merry Christmas,” she mumbled into his skin.

Bellamy laughed and the sound rolled through his chest, straight to her heart.  “Merry Christmas to you too,” he said, carding his hands through her hair.  He rolled to his back and let her settle onto the hollow between his shoulder and chest, her leg draped carelessly across his hips.  She was sleepy, every inch of her softening, and she felt his lips brush her forehead just before she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

A warm, broad palm brushed her hair back off her forehead and Clarke’s eyes fluttered open.  A slow, lazy smile spread across Bellamy’s face, just like she’d imagined, and she grinned back.  “Morning,” she said, her voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” he said, and closed the distance between them to kiss her.  Her breath was stale and so was his, but his bed was warm and she pressed against him, molding her body to his lean muscles.

“This is a pretty good Christmas,” Clarke said, nuzzling into his neck.

“How do you feel about snowman pancakes?” Bellamy asked. His lips found her earlobe and she arched against him.  “It’s a Blake family Christmas tradition.”

“If you handle that, I can make a mean cup of coffee,” Clarke agreed, but then he dragged his mouth down her throat and she forgot all about breakfast.  She drew him on top of her and this time, when he pushed into her she looked him in the eye.  He fucked her slowly, their movements lazy and unhurried, both of them falling apart with soft, quiet moans.

After that Clarke wanted to just curl into his arms and fall back asleep, but Bellamy insisted on dragging her out of bed and downstairs to the kitchen.  She was in his sweats, the waist rolled up several times so she didn’t trip on the hems, and pushed herself up onto the counter next to the stovetop to supervise.  Bellamy mixed up the batter, stopping every few moments to steal a kiss, and turned on the skillet.  Butter sizzled and batter hissed, and Clarke kicked her heels against the cabinets, unable to stop smiling even though her cheeks ached.  She hopped down long enough to pour them both mugs of coffee, and they almost lost three separate pancakes because they kept getting distracted by kissing.  But eventually he had a stack of snowmen for each of them and they ate, nudging each other under the table with their feet.

Clarke folded her legs against her chest and sipped her coffee, and Bellamy set down his fork.  “I have something for you,” he said, and disappeared into the living room.  He came back with a small rectangle wrapped in the bright red paper she recognized from the store.  “I was going to give it to you last night, but…” he broke off, the tips of his ears going adorably red.

“But we got a little distracted?” she supplied.

Bellamy grinned, his eyes darkening.  “Yeah, something like that.”

Clarke hesitated with her hand just above the seam of the paper.  “I didn’t get you anything,” she said.

“Yes you did,” he insisted.  “You did all of that.”  He gestured towards the living room and the tree, and Clarke shrugged.

“I wanted to.”

“And I wanted to give you this,” he argued.  “Are you going to open it, or do we need to go another four rounds?”

“That depends.  You going to let me win this one?” she said, eyes dancing.

“Never,” he said with mock-seriousness.  “Now open your damn present or I’m taking it back.”

Clarke tore open the wrapping paper.  Beneath it she found a small box of charcoal for sketching.  She smothered her smile.  “Did you really give me coal for Christmas?” she teased.

“Yes,” he deadpanned, and then broke into a grin.  “I figured it’d be useful for the sketching pad you bought.”

Clarke moved around the table and settled into his lap.  “I love it,” she said, her throat tight, and kissed him with his face caught in her hands.

Bellamy lifted them both out of the chair and let his hands fall heavily on her shoulders.  “Okay, no more distractions.  We’ve got more Blake family Christmas traditions to do,” he told her.

“What now?”

“Now, we ice skate.”

 

* * *

 

Bellamy’s sister turned out to wear the same size shoe as Clarke, so twenty minutes later she was bundled into a sweater and scarf, standing apprehensively before the small frozen pond in the bright sunshine.  The snow had stopped falling, and it was just warm enough that she felt comfortable leaving her coat back at Bellamy’s place.  “I’m not great at this,” she warned, and her ankles gave a precarious wobble in Octavia’s skates.

“I’ve got you,” he said, and held out his hands.  Clarke took them and let him tow her out onto the ice.  Bellamy helped her along for a few yards and then slowly let go, letting her stand up on her own.  “There, just like that,” he said encouragingly as she took a few hesitant strokes.

Once she got over the fear of falling flat on her ass— mostly by doing just that several times— Clarke had to admit she was having fun.  The air was brisk and the snow-covered trees in the park were beautiful, icicles dripping in a slow, gradual melt.  Bellamy was clearly more at ease on the ice than she was, and he admitted that Octavia had wanted to play hockey growing up so he’d learned how to skate so she had someone to practice against.  “She’s more into martial arts now,” he said.  “But I can’t say I’m sorry I learned.”

The fourth time Clarke fell he took pity on her and grabbed her hand.  For the next twenty minutes they circled the pond in their skates, hand in hand, and when Bellamy announced that the tip of Clarke’s nose was too cold for her to kiss him, he agreed they could head back.

Clarke tied Octavia’s laces together and threw the skates over her shoulder.  Bellamy was a few feet ahead of her, fumbling with the gate, when a spark of an idea struck her.  She waited until his back was turned and bent down to scoop up a mitten’s worth of snow.  “Hey, Bellamy?” she called.

He turned, his face automatically breaking into a smile.  Fleetingly, she felt a little bad about exploiting that, but she let the snowball fly anyway.  It smacked into his shoulder and exploded into a puff of snow that splattered his face.  Bellamy stepped back, surprised and shocked, and then his eyes gleamed and he bent down to grab a chunk of snow and hurl it back at her.

Clarke ducked and started arming herself again, but Bellamy’s next snowball pelted into her side.  She squealed and threw out blindly, missing him by a mile, but her next one managed to land squarely on his thigh.  Bellamy got another good shot in, this one hitting her arm when she raised it to shield her face, and Clarke raised her hands in surrender.  She was crouching in the snow, curled into a ball, and Bellamy laughed and pushed himself up.  He slapped at the snow sticking to his jeans and held out his hand to her, but Clarke pulled with all of her strength until he toppled down on top of her with a strangled yelp.  Her lips found his, their cheeks chapped from the cold, and Bellamy’s tongue eagerly sought hers.

They were both covered in snow by the time they pulled themselves apart, and Clarke was halfway soaked when they stumbled into his foyer.  She peeled off her scarf and an involuntary shiver went down her back.

“You’re freezing,” Bellamy murmured.  “Here, let’s—” he broke off and tugged her sweater up and over her head, letting the heavy wet wool hit his floor with a smack.  Clarke tipped her head up and nuzzled at his jaw until he turned his face to her.  This kiss was slow and deep, unhurried in a way that spoke of days and weeks and months of time together.

But Clarke didn’t have days and weeks or months— she had hours.  So she fisted his grey sweater in her hands and lifted it up.  Bellamy helped her and shed his undershirt just moments later, his own hands sliding under the hem of her shirt.  Together they stripped and stumbled towards the couch, leaving a trail of discarded clothing behind them.  “Wait, the condoms are upstairs,” Bellamy said as Clarke pushed him down onto the couch. They were both completely bare, his erection bobbing against his stomach.

Clarke knelt with a devilish grin and snagged her jeans from the floor.  “I grabbed a few earlier,” she explained, and pulled one out of the pocket.  But before she rolled it on she wrapped her hand around his cock at the base and twisted her wrist.  Bellamy fell back against the couch cushions with a guttural moan and she situated herself between his knees.  Licking her lips, she kept her eyes on him as she slowly lowered her head.

She swirled her tongue around the tip of his cock, tasting his salty musk.  Bellamy groaned again at that and his hand came out to blindly smooth back her hair before falling uselessly to the side.  She licked him again, and then dragged her tongue down his shaft to the base and back up.  She did that three more times, until he was a babbling, incoherent mess, begging her to stop torturing him, and then she engulfed his cock in her mouth.

His cock was thick and long, and she had to consciously relax her throat to take him all the way in.  “Fuck,” he whispered, and she drew back, her tongue dragging along the vein that ran the length of his shaft.  She swirled her tongue across his head again and then swallowed him down, one hand fisted at the base and the other splayed across his stomach, feeling his muscles flicker and twitch with each bob of her head.  She brought her hand to cup his balls and felt him swell between her lips, impossibly hard.  Bellamy suddenly shook his head and grabbed her shoulder.  “If you keep going, I’ll— I want to be inside you,” he gasped, and Clarke reached out to grab the condom she’d left beside them.

It only took her a moment to roll it on and then she climbed up, pinning her knees on either side of his hips and hovering over him.  Bellamy held his cock steady and bent his head to draw her nipple into his hot, searching mouth.  Clarke was already dripping and she sank down onto him easily, their foreheads coming to rest on each other.  Their breath mingled and she adjusted to the intrusion, and when she was ready she rocked her hips forward.

Bellamy’s hands curled around her waist, fingers digging into her backside as he urged her on.  She kept their eyes locked, wanting to memorize how he looked, and Bellamy’s eyes simply burned back into her.  When she dropped her hand to her clit he batted it away, replacing it with his thumb.  

Bellamy pressed tight, quick circles to her clit that seemed to spark through her veins, the pleasure rolling through her body in overlapping waves.  She ground down in him, taking him in as deep as she could, and then raised herself up almost the whole length of his shaft before dropping back down, and all the while his thumb teased her clit.  She could feel her peak building, rising and cresting, so she sped up her strokes, needing him to follow her.

But in the end, Clarke fell apart first, shuddering and groaning under his touch before Bellamy started thrusting into her, hard and fast, a blush spreading down his chest.  When he came, it was her name he cried out, and her lips he found in a desperate clash.  Clarke pressed against him, her arms around his neck, and rested her head against his shoulder.  Bellamy’s hands trailed up and down her back, and when he noticed her goosebumps he reached behind himself to grab the quilt.  Bellamy wrapped it around her shoulders and she lifted up just enough to let him slide out of her.  He tied off the condom, tossing it in a tissue to the floor, and pulled her close.

Clarke’s throat felt tight, and she blinked back inexplicable, sudden tears.  “Hey hey hey, what’s wrong?” Bellamy asked, because of course he would notice her shift in mood.  

Clarke shook her head and swept her thumb across the bow of his lips.  He kissed the pad of her finger and raised his eyebrows, waiting.  “I feel like a monster,” she admitted.  “I’m destroying  _ Veni Vidi Legi _ , and you—” she broke off, unable to keep going if he was going to be watching her with those dark, sympathetic eyes.

Bellamy wrapped the quilt more securely around her shoulders.  “It’s not you.  It’s Azgeda, and they— they didn’t make me sign anything at gunpoint.  I had options, some of the better than others, and this is what I chose.”

“You shouldn’t have had to sell,” she said fiercely.  “The property, the space next door, the store— it’s all such a treasure, and I’m going to ruin it.”

Bellamy gave her a sad smile.  “What else can we do?  The papers are signed.”

A sudden, reckless thought hit her.  “I can pay off the loan,” she blurted out.  “I have a trust.  It’s from my dad, when he died, and I never wanted to— that’s not important, what is important is I have three million dollars just sitting around, not being used.”

But Bellamy shook his head.  “I can’t take your money, Clarke.  I won’t.  The store— it’s not your responsibility.  It’s mine.”

“But what if I want to help?”

Bellamy carefully tucked her hair back behind her ear.  “I’d always feel indebted to you, like I owed you something I could never pay off.  I don’t want that, and I don’t think you do, either.”

Clarke’s heart sank, because he was right.  Bellamy was not the type to accept charity, no matter how well meaning, and she didn’t want him to feel beholden to her like that.  She wanted him the way he was right now, open and vulnerable and strong and passionate and intense and kind and caring.  So she kissed him, because that was all there was left to do.

 

* * *

 

Night had fallen by the time she packed her car again.  Bellamy insisted on carrying her suitcase out and putting it in the trunk himself, and then shoved his hands into his pockets awkwardly.  “You’re sure you have to go tonight?” he asked, his voice thick.

“I’m supposed to be at the office first thing tomorrow morning,” she said.  She attempted a weak smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.  “We’ll be in touch, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy said, resigned.  Two hours one way was a long way to drive for a new relationship, and she had a hunch that once he started working for Azgeda officially, the old resentment he felt for her would rear it’s head.  No, this was goodbye.

A lump rose in her throat.  “Thank you,” she said, touching his cheek until he looked at her.  “For everything.  I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

Bellamy curved his hand along her jaw.  “It’s not your fault,” he swore, and brought his head down to meet her in one last, lingering kiss.  It tasted like salt and she knew they were both crying, but she made herself break away and open her car door.

“Merry Christmas, Bellamy,” she said through her tears.

Bellamy lifted his hand in a wave.  “Merry Christmas, Clarke,” he said, his eyes bright, and she forced herself to drive away right then or else she never would.

 

Clarke’s phone got service a half hour into the drive and immediately lit up with a call from Roan.  “It’s Christmas,” she growled at him.

“I know, but you didn’t have to spend it with my mother,” he said dryly.  “She wants those papers.”

“I have them.  I’m on my way back to town now.  Everything’s signed and legit, I swear.  She’ll have them tomorrow,” Clarke sighed.

“Did you really end up spending Christmas there?”

“What do you care?”

“I’m hiding from my mother.  Humor me.”

“I did.  With the owner, actually.  He’s— he’s great,” she said, blinking.  The road in front of her blurred and then cleared.  “The building is a Rosemary Blake original, even.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Roan asked.  He wasn’t unkind, just uninterested in the things that mattered to her.

“She’s an architect I studied.  Bellamy’s her great-grandson.  The building itself is beautiful, though.  Lots of original period details that we should preserve.”

“You know that will depend on how much it costs to do that,” Roan pointed out.

Clarke slowed her car to a stop and turned on her turn signal.  Ahead, cars whizzed across a bridge on the interstate, her exit just to the left.  Once she got on that, it was forty-five minutes home.  She’d be leaving Arkadia behind for good, along with Bellamy and Madi and Raven and everyone else she’d met over the past few days. “Fuck it,” she muttered.  “Roan, you have a financial advisor, right?” she asked.  She waited for a car to pass her in the oncoming lane and pulled a sharp U-turn.

“As all rich kids should, yes.”

“Can you send me his number?”

“Finally touching that trust of yours?” Roan asked.

“Yeah,” she said.  “Oh, and also?  Tell your mom I quit.”


	4. Chapter 4

Clarke drove straight back to Bellamy’s house, but it was dark and locked up tight.  She hoped he hadn’t gone somewhere for the night, but when she pulled into a parking space on the mostly-deserted Main Street, she saw a light on in the store.  

She tugged on the door handle but it refused to budge, leaving her to hammer frantically on the glass until Bellamy came out from the back.  He started when he saw her and hurried to the door.  “Did something happen?” he asked, clearly worried.

Clarke stepped past him and pulled off her hat.  “Yes and no.  I had an idea,” she said.  “I’m going to write you a check for $30,000, but we’re going to have to wait a couple of days until the banks open and I can get access to my trust.”

Bellamy’s face fell.  “Clarke, I told you.  I won’t accept your charity.”

“It’s not charity; it’s a down payment on the renovations we need to do,” she said.  Behind her was the door to the vacant property and she pushed it open.  It was colder in here, the heat clearly on the lowest setting, and her breath misted in front of her.  “Turning this into a coffee shop-slash-art-gallery is going to take a lot of money, and you need to know I’m serious about this.”

Bellamy blinked.  “What?”

“This space.  It’ll be a perfect coffee shop, and we can have the door open for your customers to wander in and out.  It'll encourage even more browsing for you, and I'll get people who just have to start reading.  I can put up some of my art up in the gallery, too, and I can find other local artists to display theirs too.”

“You’re joking,” he said, but she could see him adding things up in his mind already.  “Do you even know anything about running a coffee shop?”

“I worked at one for four years, so I’m not a complete novice.  And with the money in my trust I can hire a business advisor to make sure I don’t do anything completely stupid.  But the building will stay intact, and you can pay off your bridge loan and stay independent.  And I’ll be paying the rent on this, so you can stay afloat.”  She watched him, waiting for him to say something.

"A coffee shop? Not a gallery?"

"It'll be both.  A gallery would be too sterile, too empty, and I've spent enough time on my own.  I want people and discussions and-- yes, this is what I want."

“What about your job?” he asked finally.

“What about it?  I quit.”

“Clarke,” he sighed.  

“I hated it there,” she said.  “Trust me, this was a long time coming.”   _ I just didn’t have the ovaries to do it until you came into my life. _  “Whaddya say?”

Bellamy looked at her and his face broke into that heart-stopping smile.  “I say, where do I sign?”

 

* * *

It took the better part of three months to get the vacant property converted, and even then there were things left undone.  Clarke still had a few more paintings that she needed to finish before she hung them in the second floor gallery and the office was a disaster, but the plumbing was working and they’d passed their health inspection.  She wanted to get a sound system in at some point too, maybe for an open mic night, and she hoped to get a liquor license in the near future to bring in a later-evening crowd.  But those were all things she could do later, because for now, the shop was functional.

Clarke was amazed by how easy it was to give up her life in the city and move out here. She missed Wells, her mother, and Marcus, but otherwise, she had everything she needed, and the city didn't feel so far away anymore.  Madi was thrilled about the possibility of the coffee shop— and about Clarke moving to Arkadia— and best of all, Clarke saw Bellamy almost every single day.

Bellamy had helped her with some of the renovations, bickering fondly with her over paint colors and the location of each table.  He’d helped paint too, and kissed her soundly whenever the moment struck. It was hard to keep her hands off of him, to be perfectly honest, even when there were more pressing things to do.  He seemed to feel the same way, and they lost hours of work to making out in storage closets— not to mention the time she sat at his desk with his head buried between her thighs, her fist pressed to her mouth to muffle her cries even though both stores were empty and deserted.

Clarke looked around the empty space of  _ Arkadian Coffee _ .  Her paintings mingled with those of other local artists on the walls, and the delicate stained-glass transoms she’d fallen in love with when she first arrived threw yellow, green, and red patches glowing on the hardwood floors.  She could smell the coffee beans sitting under the machines, and the sugar and milk sat pristinely at the end of the counter.  Outside, the trees were just started to bud out into spring, the first hint of true warmth on the soft breeze.  It was a perfect day, the sky bright and cloudless.

A soft knock sounded at the adjoining door to  _ Veni Vidi Legi _ .  Clarke squared her shoulders and swung it open.

“Ready?” Bellamy asked with an expectant grin.

“Ready,” she confirmed, and step aside.

Bellamy was the first through the door and her mother was the second.  Abby had been thrilled when Clarke agreed to open up her trust to start the shop, and she and Marcus had been down almost every other weekend to help with the set up.  Marcus and Bellamy were already fast friends, and Clarke watched Bellamy turn around to continue his conversation with Marcus.

Her mother drew her into a tight hug.  “He’d be so proud of you,” Abby whispered, tears thick in her throat.  “He always wanted you to be happy.”

Clarke sniffled and buried her face in her mother’s hair, just long enough to blink back the tears.  “Thanks for coming, Mom,” she said.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Abby said.

Wells was waiting just behind Abby, a wide grin on his face.  “Full-time barista, eh?” he teased, and Clarke laughed and hugged him hello.  The  _ closed _ sign still hung on the front door, since this was a soft opening for friends and family, but as soon as Clarke went behind the counter, she realized it was nearly full.

Everyone had turned out— Luna and Gina and Raven and Monty and Miller were all waiting, and Emori emerged from the back room with a black apron tied around her waist to help Clarke fill the orders.  Clarke was hoping to hire a few more employees before the year was out, but for now, Emori had agreed to come on on a part-time basis.  Murphy showed up a short time later, but stayed just long enough to get his mocha before darting back to watch  _ Veni Vidi Legi _ .

Time passed in a blur, until suddenly Clark looked up and realized she’d done it— she’d made it through her soft opening without anyone losing a limb or being accidentally poisoned.  Marcus was chatting with Gina, and her mother and Wells were sitting in two of the armchairs in the corner near the window.  Clarke let out a long, slow breath.

Bellamy materialized in front of the counter, that heart-stopping smile on his face again.  “How are you doing?” he asked.

“Overwhelmed,” she admitted.  “But happy.”

Bellamy snuck a look around at everyone to make sure no one was looking, and then leaned across the counter to steal a kiss.  “Welcome home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> but wait! there's more!


	5. Epilogue

Clarke’s heart leapt at the sight of a new email notification, like it had been doing for the past two weeks.   _ I’ll let you know as soon as I hear _ , Luna had said, but she couldn’t give Clarke an exact date.  She opened the email and read it, grinning widely.

“Good news?” Madi asked, walking through the door of  _ Arkadian Coffee _ .

“Just something I was waiting on,” Clarke said, stuffing her phone back into her apron.  “How was school?”

“I can’t believe I had to go on December 23rd,” Madi grumbled.  Clarke got to work heating up the hot cocoa she made for Madi every afternoon and Madi pulled out her biology textbook.  Bellamy burst through the adjoining door to  _ Veni Vidi Legi _ and drew up short when he saw Madi.  The coffee shop was half full, just at the start of the afternoon rush.

“Did you get it?” Bellamy asked carefully.

“Got it,” she confirmed.  The application to be a foster parent had taken the better part of a year and a not insignificant amount of badgering judges, but she was officially licensed.

For Madi.

That had been the tricky part, but Luna had agreed to advocate for Clarke and noted the special relationship Clarke had developed with Madi over the past year.  Clarke had painted her spare bedroom light purple last weekend— Madi’s favorite color— and everything was set.

She just had to tell Madi.  She hadn’t mentioned it to her yet, not even the foster-license part, because she didn’t want to get her hopes up.  But tomorrow, Madi was coming to the gift swap (just for an hour, before Monty and Luna’s brownies went out) and Clarke was going to tell her.  And by New Year's, Madi would be tucked into the purple room in Clarke's house two blocks from Bellamy's.

Bellamy beamed and kissed Clarke’s cheek.  “You guys are gross,” Madi whined, and Bellamy tugged gently on the end of her pony tail.  It would be another round of interviews and home visits to amend her foster license when she moved in with Bellamy, but they had agreed to hold off for a few years, at least until Madi was used to the idea.  Clarke didn’t mind, because the last year in Arkadia had been the best, most full year of her life.

“How did your assignment on Egypt go?” Bellamy asked.

“My teacher said I really nailed it,” Madi said proudly.  History wasn’t her subject, and either was English, despite how much she read.  She was definitely a STEM nerd, but Bellamy had personally decided to take an interest in her history project, even ordering a few books her library didn’t have.  He still wasn’t as close to her as Clarke was, but he adored her.  

Clarke looked at Bellamy leaning over the stool next to Madi, his forearms resting on the counter.  He caught her eyes and smiled, and her heart twisted, but not painfully.  It felt full and warm and open, and she blinked back against the sudden tears when she realized what she was looking at.

Her family.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know just enough about the foster system to be reasonably sure you don't get to like, pick what kid to foster unless they're a relative, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Chash and Bgonemydear for naming Veni Vidi Legi.


End file.
